


The Girl with the Long Dark Hair

by AngelofGallifrey



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Implied Mpreg, M/M, My first Doctor Who fanfic, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofGallifrey/pseuds/AngelofGallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Rory Williams met the girl with the long, dark hair, he was seven years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 20th November, 1996

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! This is an idea that I've had for a while now, and I thought I'd give it a go. I quite like the idea, and I hope you do too! It's also my first Doctor Who fanfic, so please be reasonably gentle, although constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! Thanks, and I hope you enjoy the first chapter! :) 
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN DOCTOR WHO! NONE OF THE CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN THIS STORY ARE MY OWN (except for the girl). 
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!

The first time Rory Williams met the girl with the long, dark hair, he was seven years old. As per his usual, he was sitting on the swings in the Leadworth village square, swinging back and forth absently, gazing up at the sky. It was a chilly November morning, and a frigid breeze ruffled his hair, sending a shiver down his spine and turning his ears and nose a bright shade of red. 

Amelia and Mels had left for supper a few minutes ago, but Rory had assured them that he would be fine staying out here for a little longer. In fact, he preferred it out here. He liked spending time on his own every now and then, what with Amy and Mels dragging him around like a toy all day every day...not that he minded that. He loved them both. They were his two best friends in the entire world. It was just nice to get away and be his own person every now and then. Especially ever since the whole Doctor thing had started. Every game they ever played together now involved him, mostly with Rory having to dress up as him. Honestly, he was beginning to get tired of hearing about this 'Doctor' who had promised to take Amelia on such amazing adventures. It would have made Rory feel jealous...but of course he would never admit that.

Then he saw her. 

He didn't notice her at first. He had spotted a pied wagtail hopping along nearby, and he was momentarily distracted by the amusing, repetitive motion of the little bird's tail. He liked birds, particularly the local ones that came and visited his garden. He enjoyed filling up the bird feeders with grain and seeds, and then later he would sit in his hidey hole (the garden shed), peering through the dust and grime-encrusted glass to watch as the little creatures flew down, pecking at the grates of the feeders before flying off, perhaps back to nests full of chicks. Pied wagtails were regular visitors to his garden, and he never grew tired of the funny bobbing motions of their tails.

However, before he had a chance to get any closer to the bird, he was brought sharply out of his reverie when he heard a voice saying softly, "Excuse me? Are you alright?"

The wagtail flew away, chirruping earnestly, causing Rory to fall off the swing and into the muddy ditch beneath the seat. Winded, he just sat there for a moment, dazed, before turning his head. He was prepared to see Amelia or maybe Mels standing behind him. But instead, he saw  _her_. Suddenly intensely embarrassed at the rather inept first impression he must be giving, Rory scrambled desperately to his feet, brushing the mud and dirt from his clothes as he stood awkwardly before the stranger, who looked a little concerned.

She was young - perhaps the same age as him, with long, straight dark hair tied back into a ponytail. She, like him, was wearing a long, thick coat and gloves, but she also had an exceedingly long, garishly-coloured scarf wrapped around her neck. In fact, it was so long that even though she had it wrapped multiple times around her neck, it still trailed upon the floor. An apologetic smile upon her face, she stepped forward, saying tentatively, "I'm so sorry - I didn't mean to scare you. Are you hurt? It's just...you look a bit lonely."

"I'm fine," Rory said a little gruffly, trying to wipe the mud from the back of his trousers as discreetly as possible. "And I-I'm not lonely. I just like being alone sometimes."

"Oh, I see. Me too. It's nice to get away from all the noise and people. People can be silly sometimes, don't you think?"

Surprised, Rory nodded wordlessly. He could feel his face heating up, and dug his nails into his palms in retribution. It was a natural reaction to him whenever he met someone new. His parents, particularly his mother, had always told him that he was too shy for his own good. That was one of the reasons why he enjoyed playing with such big characters as Amelia and Mels. They did all the talking for him, and he could just stand in the background, unseen and unnoticed - just the way he liked it. 

"What's your name?" the girl asked, walking forward to plonk herself down upon the other swing, her strangely familiar blue-grey eyes seeming to pierce right to his very core.

"Rory. Rory Williams."

The girl nodded, turning her head away for a moment to look down at her feet, which she swung back and forth in a fashion which Rory could almost describe as nervous. Biting back his shy awkwardness, he swallowed his fear and murmured, "I-I don't mean to be rude, but...who are you? We don't get lots of new people in Leadworth and...I don't think I've ever seen you before."

The girl looked up and smiled shyly again.

"Our ship crashed and now my father has to fix it. I was getting bored with helping him and he said I could go for a walk outside."

Frowning in confusion, Rory cocked his head to one side. "Ship? But the sea is miles away from here."

An impish grin, so different to her previous tentative smiles, split the girl's face, and Rory could not help but return it with a small, timid smile of his own. 

"Not a sea ship, silly! A space ship!" 

Eyes widening, Rory's breath caught in his throat for a second.  _  
_

_A space ship? But how? That was impossible...wasn't it? Space ships and aliens only existed in story books...didn't they?_

Seeing the look of utter bewilderment and disbelief upon his face, the girl only grinned wider. 

"Do you want to see?"

"But...but space ships aren't real. Mum and dad told me. They said they're only around in story books."

The girl's face creased in confusion and surprise.

"But how do they know that? Have they ever seen one?"

"Well...no."

"So how can they be sure it isn't real?"

"Well...um...I don't know. I suppose...my friend has been talking a lot about space ships recently. She said that one crashed into her back garden. She said there was a man inside who said he was going to take her on adventures."

"Well there you are then! Your friend sounds clever," said the girl, her expression brightening again.

Rory felt a rush of warmth at the mention of Amelia in such a good light. Smiling bashfully and blushing, he looked down at his shoes, swinging them back and forth, the toes scraping repeatedly along the ground. It was a habit of his that never failed to irritate his parents, particularly his dad. After all, it was he who had to clean his son's scuffed shoes afterwards. 

"She is. Really clever. Much cleverer than me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Looking up at her, Rory felt surprised but a little gratified to see that all trace of shyness in the girl had disappeared. Their conversation wouldn't have lasted for very long if she had remained as quiet as him. Rory had always been terrible at holding conversations. Besides, there was something about her which intrigued Rory in a way that he had never experienced before. He wanted to talk to her. Despite her young appearance, she gave off an impression of intelligence that seemed to greatly exceed her years. It wasn't often (if ever) that Rory got to speak to someone so enthralling. Living in a sleepy little country village like Leadworth did have its drawbacks. 

It was then that Rory realised that he had been staring. Flushing bright pink, he hurriedly looked down at his feet, scuffing his shoes nervously upon the frosty ground. If he had looked up, he would have seen the expression of intrigue and amusement upon the girl's face as she cocked her head to one side, attempting to catch his eye.

"You're a funny boy, Rory. I like you."

"Um...thank you. I like you too."

The girl beamed, and Rory couldn't help but beam back. 

The next couple of hours were spent seated upon the swings, rocking back and forth absentmindedly as they chatted about anything and everything, the sky, white with clouds, slowly turning darker and darker as the afternoon waned. Rory realised at some point that he was astonished at how well he was getting on with this girl - yet he had known her for less than an hour. He was telling her things that he hadn't told some of his current friends for ages after he had met them.

He told her about Leadworth and how quiet and peaceful it was all the time (a statement at which she wrinkled up her nose in apparent disgust), and how he didn't really mind the quiet because big cities scared him. He told her how his parents had taken him to London once when he was little and he had cried because of the noise, and they had had to take him home early because he wouldn't let go of his dad's leg, sobbing into the fabric. Eventually his dad had had to physically prise him off his leg and carry him, and Rory had simply wrapped his arms around him and clung to him like a koala until London was far behind them. 

He told her about his hobbies and all the best places for animal and bird spotting.

"There's a big rock down by the river," he told her excitedly. "You can see all the fields on the other side, and sometimes you can see deer and foxes and stuff. I even saw a hare once! And sometimes when you look in the river you can see little fish swimming in the water. There's always lots of wildlife about. I like wildlife a lot." 

He talked about things with her that he would never even dream of telling Amelia or Mels...and he had known them since he was four years old. He found himself telling her about his parents' rocky marriage - how he heard them arguing at night, and how his mum left for work early in the mornings. He told her how he couldn't remember the last time his mum had seen him off to school. 

"I don't have a mum," the girl replied simply.

"Oh. I'm...I'm sorry. What...what happened?"

"I'm not really sure, but I know she's not dead. Father did tell me that, although he doesn't really like to talk about her. But he did say that she was great and that I remind him a lot of her. I'd like to meet her one day."

"Maybe you will when you're grown up," said Rory. "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

"Just travel around, like father," the girl answered, smiling whimsically as she swung her legs backwards and forwards. "I want to see everything in the whole universe, just like him."

"Really? Wow. That's a lot of places. Can you really do that?"

"Of course you can! Father has. I think it'd be exciting, don't you? Getting to meet all those people. Getting to see all those places. I want to see the stars, just like he has."

She paused, staring at him, her eyes flickering with an excitement and passion that was so intense that it sent goosebumps springing up all over Rory's body. For a moment he glimpsed something in the girl that scared yet thrilled him - something not entirely human, and Rory had the sudden, terrifying sense that he would follow this girl to the ends of the universe. Why, he did not know. There was something so achingly familiar about her that he just could not pinpoint, and yet it frightened him too much to search too hard for what that familiarity might be. It was those eyes, those grey-blue eyes that were like vast, deep pools, and Rory reckoned that, if he looked hard enough, he could see the stars themselves in their depths. 

But he was Rory Williams. Plain, shy, seven-year-old Rory Williams from Leadworth, England, not destined for anything great or exciting like he was sure this girl was, and in the end, his timidity always won. So instead of taking her hand and running with her to this supposed space ship of hers, he suddenly found himself blurting out the words, "Hey, would you...would you maybe want to come to supper? I'm sure my parents won't mind, and if you're stuck here whilst your father is fixing your...ship...then you're going to get hungry soon, right?"

Rory berated himself as soon as the words had left his mouth. What was he doing? He had only known this girl for a couple of hours and already he was asking her back to his house. 

_You only ask friends back, Rory! She isn't your friend - you haven't known her long enough!_

However, instead of the laughter and teasing that Rory had been sure was to follow, he found himself faced by the return of the timid, nervous little girl he had seen a couple of hours ago. All sense of the wild, otherworldly being that he had seen in her a few short seconds ago was gone. She suddenly looked very ordinary. 

"Oh...well...um, Rory, I'm really sorry, but I don't think that'd be a very good idea. I'd really like to, but father will be wondering where I am, and I don't want to worry him."

Rory tried to ignore the sudden crushing disappointment squeezing his ribcage like a vice. Of course she was going to refuse. She wasn't his friend. Sighing, he simply smiled timidly and shrugged, saying, "It's OK, don't worry. You're probably right. I don't want to make your dad worried."

Smiling apologetically and nodding, the girl hesitated for a while, allowing a pregnant silence to linger before sighing and looking up at the darkening sky. "I should probably be getting back."

"Oh. OK then," said Rory, watching as she slid off the swing and stood before him before following suit. "Um...will I see you tomorrow?"

Quirking a smile, the girl said, "Maybe, yes. I hope so. It's been really fun talking to you, Rory."

"It's been fun talking to you too."

"Maybe we can be friends," the girl said, smiling brightly, and Rory felt relief mixed with excitement cause warmth to spread from his chest to the very tips of his fingers.

"Yes. I'd like that a lot."

Nodding and smiling, the girl hesitated, then walked forward and gave Rory a tight hug before stepping back.

"See you soon, Rory."

Then, with a small wave, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the gathering darkness. Rory watched her go, the warmth that had been blooming in his chest beginning to dim slowly, but not leaving him entirely. A broad grin tickled his cheeks as he too turned away, leaving the swings behind him as he made his way back home for supper.

***

He didn't see the girl again the next day. Nor the day afterwards, nor the day after that. He tried to hide his disappointment and sadness from his parents, though they were so caught up in their own problems that this wasn't a difficult task. It was Amelia and Mels who were more of a challenge. In the end he was able to get them off his back by feeding them a story about being tired because he had been kept up all night by the sound of his dad's snoring from the next room, although he wasn't sure they believed it completely.

It wasn't until a week after his encounter with the girl that Rory realised he didn't even know her name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Should I continue? I'm quite pleased with this so far, but it's up to you guys if you want to read more! Feedback is always greatly appreciated - feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time! Thank you very much, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	2. 15th July, 2001

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry this took so long to update. I've been pretty busy, what with school starting again. Still, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It took a long time to get my head around, but I hope I've done a sufficient job. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY (except for the girl). 
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS.

The second time Rory Williams met the girl with the long, dark hair, he was twelve years old. 

It was a very different scene in which the second meeting was set. It was July, for a start. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun burned like an oven, baking the ground into a cracked, dusty mass and roasting the grass until it became coarse and brown. A group of boys were playing football on the field, bellowing at each other like bullocks. However, the main source of the commotion was not the boys themselves, but the fact that there was one girl playing too - and she was thrashing the rest of them.

"Go Mels!" Amelia yelled excitedly as her friend scored her third goal, causing the boys on the opposite team to let out a groan of dismay. 

Glancing up briefly from his book, a rather tattered copy of 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' which he was reading for the fifth time, Rory squinted at his friend, who was doing a brief victory dance before returning to the game. Raising his eyebrows and shaking his head, he mumbled, "She's good, isn't she?"

"I know! She's the best in the school, I reckon. She's thrashing the boys! She could play with them no trouble."

"Hmm," Rory breathed, his attention once again wholly fixated upon the tale of fauns, snow and talking animals. He had never been particularly interested in sports, especially not football.

Glaring at him, Amelia reached over to flick her friend on the nose. "Oi, bookworm. Watch the game! Mels would want you to."

"It's not a real game. It's not even official football practice. Mels just insisted that she joined in when she saw them playing."

"Well, that is what she does best. Always getting what she wants." Amelia smirked at the boy, and Rory blushed and looked down, trying to focus on the words on the page whilst consciously making an effort to ignore his flame-haired friend.

"Aw, come on Rory. Don't be such a bore. Come and help me think of a chant. We need to support Mels. It'll get your nose out of that book. It's the summer holidays! You're supposed to be running around having fun, not stuck sitting on the side of a field reading."

"Hmm."

"Rory, listen to me!" Amelia snapped, snatching the book out of Rory's hands and tossing it a few feet away, glowering at him. 

"Hey, don't do that!" Rory cried, scrambling forward to retrieve it, cradling it in his hands and checking that none of the pages were torn and that the spine wasn't cracked. His dad would kill him if he damaged one of his favourite childhood books. "You know it's my dad's!"

Pouting, Amelia crossed her arms and glared at him. Rory refused to meet her eyes. He knew that if he did, he would not be able to deny her anything. He would do anything for Amelia, but he did have boundaries, and throwing an old and fragile book which meant more to him than anything else across a field just because he wasn't paying her enough attention was crossing those boundaries.

"Rory, pleeeeaaase."

There it was. That soft, pleading voice that Amelia knew would always bring Rory crawling back to her, no matter what she had done. It was the same voice she used with him when he stayed in to do his homework and she wanted him to come out and play with her, or when she wanted to copy his homework because she had 'left it at home'. He briefly considered clutching the book to his chest and leaving, but that just wasn't in his genetic makeup. He could never just walk away from Amelia. Especially not when she was using that tone of voice. Sighing, he placed his book carefully upon the ground before shuffling back over to his friend.

"OK," he mumbled, crossing his legs, resting his elbow on one knee and cupping his chin in his hand. Amelia's face broke into a wide grin. She always got what she wanted when it came to Rory.

***

By the time Rory was trudging home, it was nearly suppertime. His dad would kill him if he was late, but he was tired and hot and he was sure the sun had burned the back of his neck red raw. Sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair, he was just turning the corner into the street on which he lived when he suddenly realised that his arms were empty. His dad's book! He must have left it on the side of the field! Groaning, he turned and hurried back the way he had come, towards the playing field. He passed a couple of straggling boys on his way back. They all ignored him. None of them spoke to him at school, and none of them spoke to him outside of school either. 

He must have looked ridiculous when he reached the field, crawling along the perimeter, scouring every inch of the dusty ground like a dog searching for its lost ball. However, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find that book. Fighting back tears, Rory slowly got to his feet, clawing his hands through his hair in dismay. His dad was going to kill him. That book meant the world to him. If he found out he had lost it...he had entrusted it to Rory in the hope that he would pass it on to his children, and his children to their children, and so on until it was falling apart at the seams and little more than a pile of browned, musty-smelling pages. 

Dropping to the ground, his shoulders slumped in defeat, Rory closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, allowing the frustration and disappointment in himself to wash over him, sending hot tears trickling down his cheeks. He was such an idiot. His dad would be furious. He would never trust him with anything again. He would never let him read any of his old books ever again...Rory loved those books.

"Excuse me, is this yours?"

Head whipping up, Rory hissed in pain as his neck cracked sharply at the sudden movement. However, the first thing he saw once he had recovered from the brief shock of pain was the tatty, fading front cover of 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe'. Mouth agape, Rory was too shocked to do anything for a couple of seconds before he realised he must look like a fool, closing his mouth and looking up at the finder. 

He froze. His heart skipped a beat.

_It was her._

But how could it be? Why was she here? Why had she come back? Did she even remember who he was? 

He had never thought he would ever see the girl with the long, dark hair ever again. He had begun to wonder, after a few months of her disappearance, whether she had been a mere figment of his imagination. After five years' worth of her absence, he had all but forgotten about his brief encounter with the mysterious girl who claimed to have seen the stars. 

But now, seeing her standing before him, his dad's tattered old copy of 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' held out to him, it brought an onslaught of memories of that one evening in November five years before. It really was her. 

At first, it appeared that she didn't recognise him, but after a few moments of gawping on Rory's part, he saw the recognition suddenly dawn upon her face, her eyebrows raising and her mouth opening a little in surprise.

"Rory?" she asked, the incredulity evident in her voice.

Rory didn't know what to say. What could he say? Opening his mouth again in an effort to speak, he found that he could make no sound but a few inarticulate croaks.  _  
_

"But the TARDIS said 2035..." the girl murmured, staring at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"W-what?" Rory stammered, finally managing to find his voice.

Frown deepening for a second, the girl did not reply, her gaze fixed upon him. Then a slow smile spread across her face, an intense amalgamation of joy, surprise and unabashed, bewildering excitement dancing in her eyes.

"Well, this _is_ a surprise! How have you been, Rory? Long time no see!" she said with a grin, holding out the book for Rory to take, which he did hesitantly.

"I...I'm fine," Rory stammered, so many questions buzzing around his brain that he could barely string a sentence together. 

"Just as quiet as last time, I see. And you're still living in Leadworth. Not much going on?"

Rory shook his head wordlessly, his voice suddenly stuck in his throat. 

Smiling at him happily, she stepped backwards, her face upturned towards the darkening sky, ablaze with streaks of red, gold, orange and pink, awe and joy playing across her face. All Rory could do was watch, dumbfounded. It really was her. The strange, mysterious girl who had helped ease his loneliness all those years ago. _She was back._  

She had grown up a little, just as Rory knew he had done. She was taller (even taller than him), and she seemed to have lost a bit of the puppy fat around her face. She was lanky and gave off an uncoordinated air, almost like a puppy. Her hair, as dark as ever, was still in its ponytail, tied up by a very brightly-coloured bobble that was so lurid in colour that it almost distracted one's attention from her face.

Almost.

A small collection of faint freckles were scattered upon her nose, though they contrasted intensely with the paleness of her skin. Her lips parted as a soft, bell-like laugh bubbled up from her chest. Her eyes (the same blue-grey that had been so familiar to him the last time he had seen them) flashed with emotion, the reddening sunlight dancing in their stormy depths. 

In truth, she hadn't changed much at all, except for the very clothes she had on her back. 

All of a sudden his train of thought was broken when he saw her whip around to face him again, her expression changed. Regarding him, her face thoughtful, she took a step forward, reaching out for his hand and, to Rory's surprise and confusion, smelled it before dropping it and cocking her head to one side. 

"Hmm. Twelve years old, right? OK, that's good. You haven't met him yet..."

"Met who yet?" Rory asked, eyebrows raised in puzzlement. 

"No-one. Doesn't matter. Shut up."

"O-oh...sorry."

"Not you. Me. Sometimes I need to just shut up. It's my brain, y'know? Always running away with itself. Too much stuff going on in there."

Frowning, Rory opened his mouth to ask that one burning question that was sitting right on the tip of his tongue, begging to be answered. However, before he could get the first word out, he lost his nerve and closed it again. But still it remained on the edge, poised and ready to spill forth from between his lips in an incomprehensible blur of uncertainty and reignited disappointment. 

_Where have you been?_

Clearly reading the question in his eyes, the girl's expression became apologetic. 

"I'm sorry, Rory. Truly, I am. I wanted to come back and see you the next day. You were probably the first friend I ever had, besides my own father...but he...he wanted to leave. He'd repaired the TARDIS and was ready to go. He hates staying in one place for too long, especially not in the village where...where..."

"Where what?" Rory prompted. 

"Where someone very important to him lives."

"Oh."

That raised even more questions. Who in Leadworth could possibly be of any interest to the girl's father: a man who presumably owned a space ship, who travelled through the galaxies, showing his daughter the vast infinities of the universe? Leadworth was the dullest place on Earth, full of ordinary little people living ordinary little lives in ordinary little houses. They were born ordinary, and they died ordinary. Nothing special. It made no sense.

"I didn't leave you behind because I didn't care, Rory," the girl said, interrupting his silent contemplations. "I didn't want to go. I was so upset when father told me we were leaving...but I realise now that it was for the best."

 _But why?_ Rory thought desperately.  _I still don't understand. In fact, I feel even more clueless than I did before she showed up again._

Silence reigned, the only sounds the twittering of birds flying in to roost, and the gentle whistle of a cool evening breeze in their ears. Rory suddenly felt very tired, like all the excitement had been drained out of him. There were too many questions and not enough answers, but still he did not have the courage to ask a single one of them. 

"Look, Rory, I really am sorry. More sorry than I have ever been. But...if you could forgive me...maybe I could make it up to you?"

"How?" Rory asked, a small spark of hope kindling in his heart.

"Well...last time I asked if you'd like to see our ship. That offer still stands."

She smiled encouragingly, and Rory suddenly had the feeling that he was standing on the edge of an abyss, and that whatever reaction he showed to that statement would be shaping some huge part of his destiny...if you believed in that sort of thing.

"But what about your dad...will he be there?" he asked softly, his voice trembling with a combination of fear and unbearable anticipation.

"No. He's away, you see. Sent me on a trip to get some stuff for him. Visiting some friends at UNIT."

"He - he let you fly his space ship?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't he? I was born and grew up on the TARDIS. I've spent my whole life watching my father fly it. I pride myself in being almost as good as him," she said, a wide, mischievous grin tickling her cheeks. 

There was a pause.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So...do you want to see the TARDIS?" 

"The what?"

"The space ship! A bit slow today, I see. It stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

"I, er...yes. Yes, I'd love to see it."

"Great. Let's go then," she said, sniggering as she skipped on ahead of the boy, her hair swinging from side to side. 

Rory did not hesitate in following her away from the field, his dad's book now clutched tightly to his chest.

He was tired of waiting for the girl with the long, dark hair.

***

"It's a police box."

"No, it's a TARDIS. It's a time machine...and space ship."

"It's a time machine too?"

"Of course it is. Why else would it be called 'Time and Relative Dimension in Space'?"

"But..."

"Yes?"

"It looks a little...small."

"Yes it does. Care to take a look inside?"

Rory frowned at the girl. He wasn't going to deny it; he had been a little disappointed upon beholding this 'great space ship', when all he could see was a grubby old police public call box. It didn't look anything special...in fact, it looked decidedly, disappointingly...normal. But now she was pushing him forward, and he could do nothing but oblige, walking forward to the box. Grinning at him, a glint of mischief in her eye, she suddenly produced a key from the inside of her coat pocket (which Rory noted was highly impractical for such warm weather) and unlocked it. 

"Are you ready?" she asked, her lips quirking into a crooked smile.

"For what?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

And she pushed open the door.

***

Rory's memories of the moment he first stepped into the TARDIS were always blurred and disjointed whenever he looked back on them. He could never quite pinpoint the exact moment that time stopped standing still and he began to process what he saw in front of him. The whirring dials and flashing lights. The gentle swell and dying down of the engines, concealed deep within the bowels of the machine, no the  _organism_ that he was standing in. The planes of shining metal and glass, and in the middle of it all the weird and wonderful stem of the console, pulsing and beating with life. For the umpteenth time that day, Rory found himself rendered speechless. The girl breezed past him, whirling around the console in a wonderful mad waltz, and Rory immediately understood that she was in her element here. This was where she belonged. _  
_

"So, what do you think?" she asked, grinning brightly and leaning upon the console, heedless of the many buttons, levers and dials there.

"I - I..." he stuttered, shaking his head helplessly as he slowly turned his head, drinking in every possible detail of the wondrous, cavernous space which somehow impossibly managed to fit inside the tiny blue box outside. 

He was reminded tantalisingly of the wardrobe that contained the world in the very book he had clutched to his chest.

"Yeeees?" she prompted, her grin growing just a little wider.

"It's...it's smaller on the outside..."

Face falling for a split second as she rolled her eyes, the girl said, "Close enough."

"It's...it's amazing."

"That it is."

"And...and you can go anywhere in it?"

"Anywhere in all of time and space."

Rory paused, wondering if he dared ask the next question forming upon his lips. 

He dared.

"Can you take me somewhere?"

The girl looked up, and Rory thought that her eyes could have been glowing. She was an enigma, a supernova, a raging tempest. In that moment, Rory wouldn't have been surprised if she had taken on the world and won. 

"Where d'you want to go?"

***

"Do you really have to leave?"

"My father called. He's going to be cross enough because I haven't got him the stuff he wanted. I don't need to add to that by being late too."

"Oh."

The disappointment would have been heavier...but at that precise moment Rory was so blissfully happy that he couldn't have cared less if he got back home and found out that the world was coming to an end. 

"Will I see you again?"

She smiled. "I don't know. I'm not promising anything...not like last time. But maybe. I hope so."

"I hope so too. That was...that was amazing. I never thought I would see a star so close..."

"It's pretty breathtaking, yes."

"And you get to see it all day everyday. Do you ever get bored of it?"

"Never."

They were standing on the street outside Rory's house. The sky was the same colour as it had been the first time Rory stepped into the TARDIS. Compared to what he had just seen, Rory thought it seemed painfully ordinary to be standing here, on the same mundane street he had been walking up and down for the past twelve years. It seemed so tiny and insignificant in comparison. 

"Thank you," he said suddenly, turning to face his friend.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

Rory smiled and nodded shyly. 

"Well...I'd better be off. Things to do, places to see, stuff to get. I'll see you soon...and if not, then it's been lovely seeing you again, Rory," the girl said sincerely.

"Y-you too," Rory replied, suddenly realising the finality of her departure. She was going to leave him again, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. He belonged here, down in Leadworth, and she belonged up there, flying around through time and space in her little-big blue box. 

Smiling and waving, she turned to walk back into the TARDIS. And Rory knew she would be gone as soon as she stepped inside that box. So he asked one last question; a question that had been plaguing him ever since he first saw her back when he was just a little seven year old sitting alone on a swing on an icy November evening. 

"Wait! W-what's your name?"

She froze. She hesitated. She twisted her head a little to one side before turning all the way back around to face him. 

"Freya," she said, the corner of her mouth turning upwards into a sheepish little smile. "My name is Freya."

And she was gone, the TARDIS dematerialising in a rush of wind and the sound of the engine parts grinding together. Rory wasn't sure for how long he stood there, replaying the girl's words over and over in his mind until he could think of nothing else.

_Freya. Her name was Freya. Finally, after all this time, he knew her name._

_Freya._

***

That night, Rory dreamt he was sitting on the edge of a precipice, his legs dangling below him, gazing down at planet Earth from up above. He was alone, but that was OK. He had never felt happier. He was calm and quiet and there was no-one there to shout at him or tell him what to do. His only companion was the universe itself.

And then he realised that it was the TARDIS in which he was sitting, and when he turned around he saw Freya prancing around the console like a fawn, whistling a tune to herself contentedly. She looked at him, as if sensing his gaze upon her. She grinned.

And Rory grinned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I'm sorry if it's a bit wordy. I had a sudden mess of inspiration and this is the result. XD I hope it's OK and that you enjoyed it! Feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. Feedback is hugely appreciated! Thank you for reading, and I'm sorry in advance if the next chapter is extremely late...I'm not good at meeting self-made deadlines. :/


	3. 10th August, 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry that this is so late - school hit me like a train and I was also finding it difficult to word everything. I'm sorry if it's a bit wordy. :/ But still, the next chapter is here. :) I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN DOCTOR WHO. NONE OF THE CHARACTERS INCLUDED IN THIS STORY ARE MY OWN (except for Freya).
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS.

The first time Rory met the Doctor, he was fourteen years old. He had been dragged along to the nearest town with Amelia (no,  _Amy_...that was her name now) and Mels for a shopping spree. It was a rare occurrence for the girls; shopping centres weren't exactly their usual scene. However, when they needed new clothes, they would transform into full-on shopaholics, not leaving town until they had searched through every clothes shop from top to bottom and tried on (as it seemed to Rory) every skirt, blouse, t-shirt and pair of shoes available.

Rory had to admit, it wasn't the greatest thing he could imagine doing with his Sunday afternoon, but he would do anything to please his friends. 

"Rory, give me an honest opinion. What d'you think of this?" asked Amy, stepping out of the changing cubicle in a short olive-coloured skirt and a pastel green blouse. It was cool and summery, and complimented her bright hair and pale skin perfectly, highlighting her long legs and slender figure. She looked stunning, as always.

"Jesus Christ, Amy. What do you think? You always look perfect. Stop fishing for compliments, woman!" Mels cried from Rory's side before he was able to get a word in edgeways, her voice light with laughter. 

Winking at her two friends, Amy let out a conspiratorial giggle before saying, "Would I ever do that to you, Mels?"

"Not to me, maybe, but you would to poor Rory. You know it's only a matter of time before he finally confesses his undying love for you. I can see you trying to wheedle it out of him."

"Oh yes, of course, that undying love I feel for Amy which doesn't exist," said Rory, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. However, he was unable to stop the light pink blush gently colouring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

He didn't fancy Amy. Really, he didn't. Everyone thought he did. But she was his friend. Perhaps his closest friend. And...it hadn't always been that way. He couldn't lie to himself when he thought back to how completely and irrevocably he had adored Amy when they were younger. Mels had teased him to no end when she found out, but by the time the feelings had eventually worn off, Amy had found out and had joined in with the taunting. It was all light-hearted banter, but Rory couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the sudden echo of his former feelings for his friend, even if it had just been the whimsical puppy love of a child. 

Grinning broadly, Amy stepped forward to pinch Rory's cheek playfully before saying, "Rory, be a mate and go and get a size 8 of this skirt. It's not short enough. If you hurry you might get to see me wearing it."

She finished the sentence with a gentle slap to his cheek and a wink, to which Rory responded by pushing her hand away and glaring at her.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Oh don't be like that, Rory," said Amy, her expression changing to an imploring pout. "I'm only teasing. But please could you fetch that skirt? Mels and I need to talk about girly things."

"Oh wow, I'm going, I'm going! Spare me!" cried Rory, suppressing a smile as he put up his hands in apparent surrender and got to his feet, hurrying out of the changing rooms and back into main section of the shop, ignoring the giggles that followed his retreating figure.

It was as he was wandering through the teen section of the shop, examining the rails in an attempt to find the skirt Amy had asked him to fetch, that he saw him. It was pretty difficult to miss him. The Doctor was like a tempest, a storm, raging into people's lives and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. 

This was in quite a literal sense when Rory met him for the first time. 

He didn't notice him at first, too intent upon his task of finding the skirt. Then, a crash shattered the relative peace of the shop. Looking up in surprise at the sound, Rory was met with the rather amusing sight of a young man, (possibly in his mid to late twenties) lying half buried under a pile of clothes, a metal rail lying across his middle, a look of dazed astonishment upon his face. However, this astonishment was quickly replaced by an expression of all-consuming terror and anxiety. A couple of people made to move towards him, perhaps to help him up, but they quickly halted in their approach when he scrambled out from under the clothes and got to his feet, his limbs flying out all over the place as he struggled up, using a nearby rail as support and nearly falling back down again when the wheels on the bottom of said rail slipped away from him. He seemed vaguely familiar to Rory, but he wasn't sure how or why, like he was someone Rory had met when he was a very young child and hadn't seen again until now. The bowtie and tweed combo the young man was sporting seemed to tug at his memory in particular...though he couldn't quite place why...

Shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, Rory wondered briefly if the man was drunk. That would certainly explain his lack of coordination and the sudden string of desperate shouts he let loose...but the terror in his eyes didn't look hazed by any external force. It was sharp and defined and extremely real, and Rory felt a pang of concern in his heart at the sight.

He moved backwards, instinctively shrinking back into himself to avoid detection, and watched in fascination as the man restarted his earlier rampage, calling out the words: "Freya? Freya!" over and over again in wild, unabashed desperation, tearing clothes from their hangers to peer beneath and behind them. Rory felt a brief stab of nostalgia at the sound of the name, unable to prevent the sudden flood of memories assaulting his senses - of stars, of the universe, of a girl with long dark hair in a little-big blue box that travelled in time and space...but no. Now was not the time for a flashback. Right now he had much more important things to worry about - such as the fact that the young man was slowly stumbling across the shop towards him.

Backing away slightly, Rory started to edge back towards the changing rooms. He looked up a couple of times at the people who were standing nearby nervously. Surely someone had called security? If so, they were taking ages. They all just seemed to be keeping as wide a berth as possible, shooting various disapproving glances in the terrified young man's direction. 

It was when Rory saw tears beginning to form in the man's eyes that he momentarily considered taking pity on him - but in the end it turned out that he didn't need to. He suddenly found himself being fixed with a stare so wild and desperate that a flash of fear sent tingles down his spine, and he felt his instinctive reaction of blushing intensely begin to take effect.

But it was the look he saw start to form upon the man's face at the sight of him that nearly made him run for the hills. 

The sheer, unprecedented terror and hysteria which had riddled the man's expression before had disappeared, leaving behind only blank astonishment. Then, like the icy white of frost stealing over a winter garden, the colour in the man's face faded, leaving him as white as a sheet.

Then there was only pain.

Pain unlike any that Rory had ever witnessed in another human being. That sort of pain that aches and gnaws and niggles until you are driven half mad by it. The sort which is brought on by loss, heartbreak, grief...he clearly reminded this man of someone who had once been important to him. The love, the agony, the gut-wrenching shock and sorrow in the man's dark green eyes was almost painful for Rory to watch. He wanted to turn and run back into the safety of the changing rooms, grab Amy and Mels and flee the shop, but he found that he was frozen there, eyes locked with the strange, floppy-haired man's and shaking with an unbearable combination of anxiety and anticipation.

Then he spoke.

"R-Rory?" 

Rory's eyes widened. His heart missed a beat. His skin went cold and a sudden high-pitched squealing pierced his ears, like the dial tone of a telephone turned up to about ten times higher than its original pitch. His tongue felt dry and floppy in his mouth as he tried to swallow, beginning to feel his body shake.

How did this man know his name? 

Surely it was just a coincidence. This man obviously knew another boy who looked a lot like him who was also called Rory...and yet the agony in his expression had been far deeper and more raw than that caused by a mere flashback...hadn't it? He wasn't sure. His dad had flashbacks sometimes when he thought he saw Rory's mum in the street...and it sometimes got messy.

"Rory...I...oh..."

It was as if he was crumbling right before Rory's eyes. It was fascinating in the most macabre, awful way - like seeing someone falling apart before slowly attempting to piece themselves back together again, and not quite succeeding. 

Then, it was gone. Like a switch had been flicked, a clearly very carefully constructed mask descended upon the man's face, the only sign of his inner turmoil being the glittering remnants of tears in the corners of his eyes, which he quickly scrubbed away with the back of his hand, as if in an attempt to hide his brief and yet devastating breakdown. Rory wanted to open his mouth to speak, he wanted to run, he wanted to understand why this man seemed so incredibly familiar...but he didn't have the courage to do anything but remain standing where he was, back pressed against the wall, eyes wide and breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his heart thumping in his ears.

Finally, once he had regained his composure, the young man flicked his ridiculously floppy fringe out of his eyes and took a step forward. It was composed, almost regal in comparison to the broken picture he had painted just moments before, but Rory did not miss the slight stagger in his gait as he moved. He resisted the urge to take a step backwards and looked up at the man, who was now standing a mere three or four paces away. 

"Please...I - I'm sorry if I...startled you. You remind me very much of someone I...well...never mind. I just...please, I need your help. Have you seen a little girl wandering around here anywhere? Very small, about yea big, short dark hair..."

"I - I'm sorry...no...I haven't," Rory stammered, finally finding his voice, unable to quite conceal his unabashed relief at the knowledge that he had been right - it was just a coincidence. It was all just a horrible, momentarily terrifying misunderstanding. Rory felt a little of the tension that had been threatening to suffocate him begin to ease off.

"Oh, I see...will you...will you help me look for her? She is...she is my daughter and I'm worried about her. She's...she's only four, you see."

"Oh, wow, right. I see." Suddenly Rory understood the man's desperate yelling earlier. "Yes, I...I'll help you. What's her name?" 

"You'll help? Thank you, thank you very much...yes, yes, her name is Freya. She normally comes running when I call her...actually, that's a lie, but still..."

Freya. Of course. How could he forget? The same name as the girl with the long, dark hair. Frowning to himself, he quickly shook the thought from his head once more before meeting the man's gaze. 

"Right then...where should we start?"

A light seemed to illuminate the young man's eyes from within, a small, crooked smile curling the corners of his lips as he rubbed his hands together in nervous excitement before saying, "She was just wandering around with me in this shop...but she must have got distracted by something and run off...I couldn't have left her behind. She never gets left behind, especially not when there's a Slitheen close by. She'd smell them from a mile off..."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just me jabbering away to myself. I do that sometimes. Too much going on in the old noggin."

"...Right," said Rory, unsure of what to do next, unused to taking control.

Eventually the man seemed to cotton on to this and quickly suggested, "How about I search down here, you toddle upstairs and have a look up there. She loves climbing stairs, so you might find her before I do."

Nodding, Rory turned and hurried through the forest of clothes rails before he reached the stairs and leapt up them two at a time, still not entirely sure of what was going on but somehow unable to not help the young man downstairs, despite it being very unlike him to do so. There was something about him - not just his aching familiarity that he just could not pinpoint, but also something different, special. Something that made his heart race and his palms sweat.

Reluctantly, he returned his attention to the task at hand, pushing his silent contemplations from his mind. It was too strange a situation to dwell on for too long, or his head would explode with the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

He briefly remembered that the girls would be waiting for him, and for a moment he was considering running straight back to them to tell them the whole wild story, but he quickly shook his head, disgusted at himself. There was a four year old girl missing and all he was thinking about was how Amy would be wondering where he had got to with that skirt. Glaring to himself, he muttered, "Pull yourself together, Rory. There's a child missing. Think about the child."

Taking a deep breath, he was about to call out, "Freya? Your dad's looking for you!" before he saw a small girl with dark hair in a bob poke her head out from behind a rail of cardigans, her eyes, a pale grey-blue, wide and curious. 

"Are you looking for me?" she asked softly, her gaze focussed intensely upon his face.

"I - well...yes...I mean...I think so."

"What do you mean, 'you think so'?" the little girl asked, head cocked to one side as she continued her study of his face, her eyes seeming strangely to hold him in place. 

"I - I mean...are you Freya?"

"You tell me who you are first," the girl replied immediately, her expression of earnest curiosity never changing. 

"I - I'm Rory," Rory replied, frowning at the strange conversation. "I'm helping your dad look for you..."

He realised the girl wasn't really listening to him when she tilted her face upwards and sniffed deeply before saying decisively, "You're not one of them."

"Um...what?"

"The monsters father and I are searching for."

"...Monsters?"

"Yes. Monsters," the girl said, a small smiling breaking across her face like a ray of sunlight.

"Right..." 

Rory guessed it must be some kind of game she and her father were playing, perhaps explaining why she was hiding from him.

He wasn't sure what to do. He had never been naturally gifted with young children, as he had never really had the opportunity to become acquainted with any. However, his dad did have a habit of watching far too many bad soap operas than was good for him, so he had seen a couple of scenes that may be helpful. Hesitating only for the briefest second before making his mind up, he carefully crouched down before the child, trying rather unsuccessfully to crack a gentle smile before saying, "Well, if it's monsters you and your dad are looking for, then surely it's better if you're together? Two's better than one."

The girl became very quiet after this, her little mouth suddenly snapping closed and her face becoming downcast as she lowered her gaze, staring intently at her shoe, which she was now scuffing nervously upon the ground, a habit which Rory recognised from his own childhood and which still plagued him occasionally. 

"What's wrong?" he asked as gently as he could, not moving any closer but lowering his head slightly in an attempt to meet Freya's gaze.

"It's just...well..." she trailed off again, glancing up to meet Rory's gaze, an anxious look in her eyes which Rory tried to alleviate with an encouraging smile. "...It's just that I'm a bit...scared."

"Scared?" asked Rory, surprised at the girl's answer. "Why are you scared?"

"Because of the monsters! Father doesn't think anything is scary. He never gets scared. But I get scared all the time, and he thinks I'm the biggest bravest girl in the whole universe. But I'm not. I'm always getting scared, and I don't want him to get angry with me for being boring. He's always saying humans are exciting and beautiful...but I'm not human and I don't want to be boring!"

Eyes wide, Rory paused, thrown off kilter by the sudden outburst and a little confused by the girl's words. Taking a moment to rub the side of his nose (a nervous habit he had developed over the past couple of years), he took a breath before mustering up the courage and willpower to answer.

"Look, Freya, I know what you mean. You don't want to make your dad angry or sad, is that right?" 

She nodded earnestly.

"I have the same thing with my dad, and my mum. I don't want them to get annoyed with me, so I get scared of telling them how I really feel. You don't think your dad ever gets scared, right?"

She nodded again.

"Wrong. I'll bet you your dad gets scared all the time - he just never shows it because he wants you to think he's big and strong. Dads do that. And there's nothing wrong with being scared sometimes. In fact, being scared can be good. And about your dad thinking you're boring - how could he ever think that a girl as pretty and exciting as you was boring?"

The girl was silent for a while, her little forehead puckered up in a frown, her lips pinched together. Then, as if gripped by a revelation, she slowly turned her head to face him again, a crooked little smile plucking at the corners of her lips in a fashion that Rory realised made her look very much like her father. 

"Is that true, Rory?"

"Of course it is. I wouldn't lie to you."

Hesitating again as if in consideration, another moment of silence passed, filled only by the background hum of conversation infusing the air of the shop. Finally, a determined expression upon her face, Freya stepped out from behind the woolly wall of cardigans to stand beside Rory. Relief washed over him, followed by a sense of incredulity at the fact that his inexperienced babblings had worked. Who'd have known it? It looked like he did have what it took to become a primary school teacher.

An impish grin spread across the girl's face as she reached out to grasp his hand in a surprisingly tight grip, her little fingers barely long enough to curl around the width of his palm. Frozen in a moment of surprise, it took Rory a couple of seconds to reciprocate the gesture before smiling hesitantly, saying, "Let's go and find your dad, yeah? I bet he'll be glad to see you."

***

It didn't turn into the tearful reunion that Rory had been expecting. He was anticipating the moment when we was sure to be knocked over by a terrified father in a tweed jacket and bowtie, but instead he found the young man standing on the opposite side of the shop, gazing at the two of them with a gentle expression that Rory was unable to interpret before stepping forward, crouching down and holding out his arms. Freya took only a moment to let go of Rory's hand before scuttling forward and throwing herself into her father's arms, though not before flashing a bright smile over her shoulder in Rory's direction. 

"Ey, there you are, my girl. Where did you get to?" the man asked, grinning as he hefted her up to chest height, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. 

"I was...hiding," Freya replied, her gaze flickering uncertainly back to Rory's before resolution seemed to harden her expression.

"Hiding, eh? Well, there's no need to hide anymore. I'll protect you from the big, bad monsters!" 

Watching the scene unfold, Rory couldn't help but feel strangely proud at the sound of Freya's happy little giggles, and the expression of content and joy on her father's face which had so quickly replaced the terror which he had seen before. It caused a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest which spread right the way from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes.

Despite the pleasantness of the feeling, he knew it meant that his face was turning as red as a tomato. 

He was brought sharply back to the present when the young man took a step closer, a winning smile upon his face as he said, "Thank you. I couldn't have found her without you."

"Well...I'm not sure that's true..." mumbled Rory with a nervous laugh, scraping his fingers through his hair and lowering his gaze in embarrassment. 

"Well...yes, you're probably right there. But you definitely made it easier for me," the young man with the ridiculously floppy hair ejected, beaming as he clapped a hand upon Rory's shoulder. "I can't thank you enough."

"Really, it was nothing. Any decent person would have done it."

The man's expression softened at that, his eyes becoming wider somehow, and gentler. "Yes. Yes, I suppose they would."

There was an awkward moment of quietness which continued without any sign of breaking until Rory, unable to bear it, mumbled, "Well...I'd better get going. My friends will be wondering where I got to."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry for keeping you. Thank you again. Say thank you, Freya."

"Thank you, Rory," Freya piped up happily, her face lit up by that enchanting little smile of hers once again. 

Waving a little clumsily, Rory returned the smile before turning his back on the two and moving away, not entirely sure where to, so long as it took him to a place where normality still existed; somewhere away from those two. However, in spite of the undeniable peculiarity of the situation, Rory could not help but grin broadly to himself. 

It had certainly been more exciting than looking for a skirt.

***

Unbeknownst to Rory, that was the third time he met the girl with the long, dark hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I hope you enjoyed it! :) It was nice to take a different spin on the story for this chapter, and I hope it was to your liking. :P Feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you have the time - feedback is a writer's lifeblood. :) Oh, and a slightly belated happy New Year. :3


	4. 3rd April, 2008/2010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a piece of trash, I know, and you have every right to hate me, I know. I'm so sorry - this took an obscenely long time to write, and I literally have no excuses. If you decide to read, thank you so much and I'm sorry I kept you all waiting - all the wonderful feedback on the previous three chapters was eventually enough to keep me going with this one. You're all sweet and lovely and I'm glad you're enjoying this so much!
> 
> Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO. ALL RIGHTS TO THE CHARACTERS (AND SOME DIALOGUE IN THIS CHAPTER) GO TO THE WRITERS AND PRODUCERS OF DOCTOR WHO
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS

Rory didn't meet the Doctor again until he was nineteen years old. It felt like nearly a lifetime since he had met the girl with the long, dark hair, with all her enigmatic brilliance and wondrous intelligence. His memories of her were warped and faded with age, and although her presence had burned a permanent path in his mind, her face had long since faded into obscurity. He had accepted long ago that he would never see Freya again. She barely crossed his mind anymore. She was off somewhere, travelling in her little-big blue box through time and space, probably without a second thought for the lonely little boy she had left behind in Leadworth, and he was down here, where he belonged. 

  Having said that, Rory couldn't really complain. Life in Leadworth wasn't so bad anymore. In fact, he had a job now. He was a nurse...or at least a trainee. He worked part-time at the local hospital, and although the money was a little lacking, the sense of satisfaction he gleaned from helping others was enough to keep him enthusiastic enough to keep turning up nearly every day. He had been told on multiple occasions by his supervisor that he had a natural bedside manner, and would, with training, become a fine nurse. The praise never failed to leave him glowing with pride. For once in his life, he was praised for _his_ actions, for simply doing what _he_ wanted to do, not some hairbrained scheme concocted by Amy or Mels, who thought it would be a great joke to drag him in alongside them. He was finally doing something for himself and being praised for it. It was a wonderful feeling. 

  It all began to go pear-shaped when he started hearing coma patients calling out in their unconscious state, whilst also seeing them up and about around the village. And of course no-one believed him, not least his boss, Dr Ramsden, even after hearing Mr Collins calling out for a 'doctor' in his supposedly comatose state. It was bizarre and frightening and if he was honest, Rory really didn't have time for this sort of stuff. He was tired after working long hours and he would much rather be out in the sunshine reading than holed up in the hospital being ridiculed by his boss.

  "We've been very patient with you, Rory, and you're a good enough nurse, but for god's sake, these patients are under _twenty-four hour supervision._ We know if their _blood_ pressure changes. There is no possibility that you could have seen them wandering about the village. _Why are you giving me your phone?"_

  Rory was trembling, half in frustration and half in terror, because he _knew._ Of course he knew that this was crazy. There was no possible way that coma patients could be wandering around the village. He _knew_ that the majority of these patients had been immobile for months, and he also knew that no member of staff would ever discharge an unconscious patient. And yet he _had_ seen it. He had seen _them._ He had seen the patients wandering around the village and he knew that even though he had been called a lot of things in his lifetime, he was definitely not blind. He knew what he had seen, and he knew that his eyes had not deceived him because he had _pictures._ So here he was, holding out his phone to his boss in a desperate ploy to get her to believe him.

  "It's a camera too," he said shakily, his arm hovering out over the top of Mr Collins' bed, staring as steadfastly as he could into the (highly intimidating) eyes of Dr Ramsden, trying to control the incessant knocking of his knees.

  He could see it in her eyes. She was going to give him the benefit of the doubt, was actually reaching out her hand to take the phone...and then her pager started beeping, breaking the moment, and Rory felt helpless despair wash over him in a wave of frustration and humiliation.

  "You need some time off, Rory. A lot of time off. Start now." Rory raised a finger to protest, horrified, but the doctor was having none of it. " _Now!"_  

  Rory lowered his finger and nodded, feeling his heart sink in his chest. It wasn't _fair._ He knew what he had seen and he knew that he was right. Dr Ramsden sent him a pointed glare before turning and bustling from the room to her next patient, and Rory couldn't help but want to call out, try again, hold out the phone a second time and insist that she take it and see the evidence, but he knew it was hopeless. When Dr Ramsden didn't want to do something, no amount of persuasion was ever going to change her mind. Shoulders slumped and tail between his legs, he left the ward, went to pick up his things from his locker, and left the hospital, hoping and praying that he wouldn't end up losing his job over this.

***

Rory didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good. First a decidedly ominous voice started booming through every electrical device that "the human residence will be incinerated" (and if that didn't sound like something out of a typical apocalyptic sci-fi movie then Rory didn't know what did), and then the sun started flaring in a way that Rory was certain was not safe. Moving out onto the Green to get a better look, he noticed several other people also stepping out onto the grass, camera phones aloft, filming what they could of the spectacle above them. Of course. What else were the people of Leadworth going to do? It wasn't as if they got much excitement around here. Or at all.

  It was then that he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Mr Collins. With his dog. The same Mr Collins he had seen in the hospital ward only ten minutes ago. In a coma. Rory felt a strange sense of triumph at the sight. Here was living, breathing proof that he wasn't going crazy and that he was _right._ Scrabbling through his pocket he grabbed his phone before taking several pictures, determined that this time he was going to prove to Dr Ramsden, and indeed the whole of the staff body at the hospital, that he had been right. He may have been a bit of a pushover at times but he still didn't like being ridiculed when he knew he was in the right.

  It was then that he promptly found his phone being whisked out of his grasp by a slightly crazed-looking young man with floppy dark hair and wearing clothes that looked like they had definitely seen better days. Stunned, he stood motionless and watched as the man briefly examined his phone before turning back around and pinning him with a stare that sent Rory's heart pounding.

  Because he knew that stare. He had seen it before.

  Where had he seen it before? It was tantalisingly familiar - the gangly, crazed motions of the arms and legs, the sharp-cut cheekbones, the bright intensity of his dark green eyes, sparking with a kind of intelligence and fire that he had never seen in anyone else.

  Well...not quite...but now was not the time for inappropriately-placed flashbacks to a certain girl with dark hair in a certain space ship.

  Now was not the time.

  But here, right now, looking into the eyes of this man he _knew_ he had seen before, that was the only way he could describe it. The man and the girl of his memories were kin. He could see it in the way the man held himself, the way his eyes burned, the way his face was glowing with excitement and curiosity and wonderment at every little detail that surrounded him. This was a man who had seen wonders beyond imagination, and yet the world still intrigued him, in spite of its mundanity, its dullness...its _ordinariness._ This was a man who did not believe in the word 'ordinary'. This was a man who only believed in the words 'incredible', 'fantastic'... _'extraordinary'_.

  "The sun's going out and you're photographing a man and a dog. Why?"

  Rory was speechless. He knew that voice. He had heard it before.

  And then it clicked.

  The man in the shop. The man in the clothes shop all those years ago. The man who had lost a child, that little girl who had been afraid of monsters. Suddenly he remembered them both with such clarity.

  What had happened to the man's clothes?

  And where was his daughter?

  He realised that was a silly question shortly after it had popped into his head. The man's daughter would be several years older now, perhaps around eight or nine, and therefore probably had better things to do than follow her father around all over the place - particularly when said father looked like he had had an especially hard night out on the town. Not that there were any clubs around here. Or any towns, for that matter. Besides, who was to say the girl's mother wasn't looking after her for the day?

  But still, something seemed a little off, and Rory could not quite pinpoint what it was.

  He found himself unable to speak, unable to do much else but gawp dumbly, his mouth open in a silent expression of bewilderment.

  It was then that Amy appeared. Dressed in her policewoman kissogram costume. Rory allowed himself a brief moment of surprise, wondering what his friend was doing here with the strange young man, followed by a sudden wave of embarrassment on her behalf. Fantastic. What a great first impression. He didn't know how many times he had wondered at Amy's profession. But then, with an influence like Mels...it was hardly surprising, was it? Still, he was grateful for the familiarity of her presence, like an anchor in a raging sea. That was the only way he could describe how he felt. This man was like a storm, and Amy was the only thing currently keeping Rory from being whisked away into the waves.

  "Amy," he stammered, glancing back into the gaze of the other man. His heart felt like it was in his throat.

  "Hi!" she said a little breathlessly, turning to the man in the raggedy clothes. "This is Rory. He's a friend."

  "Hello," Rory said softly, because a second memory was beginning to gnaw at his brain. He recognised this man for more than one reason. But it was the clothes this time. The tattered, raggedy clothes...

  "Oh my god. It's him. It's him! The Raggedy Doctor! The one you were always telling me about!"

  "Yes, he came back." Amy's tone was a little clipped, cool and not at all happy, but for what reason Rory could not say.

  "But he was just a game..."

  He was promptly cut off by said 'Raggedy Doctor' grabbing him by the hoody and hauling him forward, their faces uncomfortably close as he shouted, "MAN AND DOG. WHY. TELL ME. NOW."

  Flustered and more than a little panicked, Rory managed to stutter out some near-incomprehensible babble about the walking coma patients. He saw realisation and satisfaction dawn upon the young man's (no...the _Doctor's_ ) face before he was released, long-fingered hands smoothing out his hoody strings and patting him on the arms.

  "Knew it. Multiform, you see. Disguises itself as anything but needs a life, needs a psychic link with a living but dormant mind."

  Rory was helpless, nodding along with whatever the Doctor was saying, without fully understanding what it was he was trying to tell him. One thing was for certain. This was far beyond what he had had planned for the day.

  Then Mr Collins' dog started barking.

  And so did Mr Collins.

***

Heart pounding in his chest, Rory hurriedly turned his back on the rapidly stripping Doctor.

  "Aren't you going to turn your back?" he hissed to Amy, who was, as per her usual, standing, arms folded, eyes stubbornly fixated upon certain areas of the Doctor's anatomy that Rory was definitely not comfortable with.

  "Nope," she said with a smirk, and Rory frowned at her in frustration. However, in spite of the awkwardness of the situation, he could not help but glance at the other figure out of the corner of his eye, trying to conceal the movement as best he could (although he knew Amy would notice straight away).

  Well, he had to give it to him. The Doctor's bum wasn't half bad.

  That was something Rory had never thought he would hear himself say, and something he never intended to say out loud. Ever. His cheeks flushed red and he turned his head back so that he was facing in the opposite direction to the stripping man, palms sweating and ignoring the niggling itch at the back of his mind telling him to be as brave as Amy, to turn back around and watch.

  But now was not the time.

***

 Rory wasn't sure why he said it, but it had felt like an appropriate comment at the time. The terrifying alien-eyeball-police were gone, seemingly scared off by the now fully-clothed Doctor, leaving the sky a bright summer blue with the sun looking relievingly normal. His heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline thrumming through his veins and his eyes watering with the intensity of the wind blowing in his face; the only evidence of the departing aliens' presence. He felt exultant, his brain buzzing with questions and emotions and exclamations that he wanted to scream into the wind that was whipping his hair back and buffeting his face. He saw the Doctor turn around, his eyes bright with that same crackling fire that sent Rory's blood thumping in his veins. Their gazes locked for a brief moment before he moved his attention to Amy, who was standing with an equally awestruck expression upon her face.

  And then he said it.

  "Freya must be so proud to have a dad like you."

  The Doctor turned to look at him then, but the electrical spark of excitement that had caused his face to glow in such a way was gone, replaced only by a frown of confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amy turn her head to look at him, no doubt sporting a similarly bewildered expression, but Rory could only stare at the Doctor, suddenly feeling that he had said something terribly wrong.

  "I - I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."

  "Say that again," the Doctor said suddenly, Rory's mouth snapping closed at the interruption.

  "I...I just thought that Freya must be so proud to have a...a dad like you."

  The Doctor took a step forward, and Rory felt goosebumps rise on his skin at the intensity of his stare.

  "What do you mean? Freya...who's Freya?"

  "Y-your daughter. A-at least, that's what you told me...last time. I'm not sure you remember but...we met a few years ago. In New Look. I - I helped you find your daughter because she'd run off somewhere..."

  He trailed off into silence at the blank look of complete bewilderment upon the other man's face, and really, that wasn't an encouraging expression at all. The Doctor took a couple of slow steps towards him, and Rory began to think that this man had no concept of personal space as he moved so close that his nose nearly touched Rory's own, his eyes seeming to pierce right to his very core as he scanned his face.

  "Who are you, Rory?"

  Rory swallowed nervously, his neck protesting painfully as he leaned as far back as he could, and yet his feet were rooted to the spot. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to get as far away from this man as possible, and yet an equally strong part of him prevented him from doing so. He was reminded suddenly and powerfully of that moment in the clothes shop all those years ago, when this same man had seemed to recognise him, time grinding to a halt as their eyes had met. And yet now, the roles seemed to be reversed - the Doctor clearly didn't recognise him, and by the sound of things he didn't even recognise the name of his own daughter.

  Was he mad? Had he escaped from a hospital somewhere? Rory knew the man had a daughter - he had told him so. He had found her when she went missing! There was no way one could simply forget that they had a child after having been so invested in their life beforehand.

  So surely this was something else. The Doctor's behaviour indicated insanity and yet...he didn't seem to have changed since the last time they met. So either he had always been crazy, or this was something else entirely. But Rory, for the life of him, could not figure out what it was.

  "Me? I - I'm no-one," he squeaked, feeling certain that his sense of balance would begin to fail him soon if the Doctor didn't move away.

   Then, like a switch had been flicked, the Doctor was gone, bounding away at full speed and disappearing through the door and clattering down the stairs, back down into the hospital.

  "Doctor, wait!" Amy yelled, not sparing a second glance for her best friend as she turned and hared after the other man: the man who had been as big a part of her childhood as Rory had - perhaps more so.

  All Rory could do was stand in bemused silence, the wind calming to little more than a gentle breeze ruffling his fringe, his brain in too much turmoil to fully understand what had just happened. For a second there he had been unable to interpret whether the Doctor had wanted to hit him or run away from him...he was thankful that it had been the latter, and yet he too had an insatiable desire to chase after the mysterious young man with the bowtie and tweed jacket ( _stolen_ bowtie and tweed jacket, he might add...the Doctor must really like that particular combo...Rory was almost certain he had been wearing the same thing last time as well).

  He shook his head and ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair, his brain muddled and his thoughts so closely tangled together that he feared he would never be able to pick them apart. He could have run after the Doctor, grabbed him by the hand and forced him to explain, but something told him that the Doctor did not want to be found. He doubted Amy would catch up with him.

  He stayed on the rooftop for several more minutes, listening to the whistling of the wind, the rustling of the trees below and the distant sound of tyres crunching on gravel as a car pulled away from the hospital.

  He remembered the fear and confusion in the Doctor's eyes, his brow wrinkled and eyes dark, and yet there had been a brightness, a curiosity, that in retrospect gave Rory hope.

  Something told him that this would not be the last time he met the strange man with the floppy, dark hair.

***

The aftermath of the Doctor's disappearance greatly resembled the aftermath of Rory's second meeting with the girl with the long, dark hair, only this time it was far, far worse. Amy had cried for days after the Doctor had left, heartbroken at the sudden disappearance of the mysterious man from her childhood, and with Mels off gallivanting around the country there was only Rory who could be there to look after her. On her request, Rory left his small flat on the other side of the village to move into a spare room in Amy's house. There were plenty to go around - it was a big house for only one person. They found comfort in each other's presence - in their shared knowledge of the bizarre truths of the universe. It was relieving to have someone there to rant to, someone who didn't mind the little oddities in each others' behaviour, such as the reluctance to interact with a certain Mr Collins and his dog, and the avoidance of a certain abandoned room in the house.

  But that was not important, because they _knew._ They understood all this, and never commented on it unless one asked the other. Sometimes Amy would come into Rory's room and they would sit up until the crack of dawn like they used to as children, just talking. Sometimes they talked about the Doctor. Most of the time they avoided the subject entirely in a desperate ploy to just get the man out of their heads. Amy was furious at first. Of course she was. The man who had promised her so much as a child had reappeared, only to abandon her a second time with nothing but more empty promises. It was only natural that she would be angry.

  However, after two months of the Doctor's absence, Amy's random outbursts of tears had ceased completely, and Rory was able to get a full night's sleep most nights. She didn't speak of him much anymore, and Rory never pushed her to do so.

  But for him, even in sleep his dreams were riddled with images of dark green eyes, flashing with passion and exhilaration, or of gangly limbs and an impassioned voice, brimming with a kind of life and laughter that left Rory feeling almost as if he were being filled from head to foot with golden light.

  Sometimes he would see flashes of a small pointed face, pale blue-grey eyes and a garishly-coloured scarf.

  But not often. Not anymore.

  So weeks stretched into months, and months eventually stretched into years. Amy and Rory were living their lives as they should be. Rory was back at the hospital, completely happy. He had even received a promotion. He was a full-time nurse now, fully-trained and well-respected by the other members of staff, even Doctor Ramsden. He threw himself into his work, as much as Amy reprimanded him for it, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed it. Amy was still working as a kissogram, but Rory didn't comment on it anymore. She enjoyed her work and Rory was prepared to do anything to see his best friend smile. He didn't see it as often as he would have liked.

  Their lives had not long settled into a fragile resemblance of a normal daily routine when they were shattered all over again.

  Rory was half-asleep when he heard it; that undulating metallic push and pull that tugged at the furthest reaches of his memory, and he was sitting bolt upright in bed before he had even realised what the sound was. But he knew. He _knew._

  Leaping from his bed, he didn't even think to wake Amy before he was tearing out of his room, clattering down the stairs and out the back door into the garden.

  And there it was.

  The little-big blue box that had haunted his dreams for nigh on nine years, the bright light on top shining like a beacon on a clifftop, heralding safe passage for passing vessels. Rory's heart swelled in his chest.

  Could it be her?

  _After all this time?_

  And then the door was opening, and Rory wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or awed by the sight of the dark-haired, pale-faced young man wearing a tweed and bowtie combo poking his head out of the doorway. When he saw Rory, a bright yet tentative smile curled his lips.

  "Sorry about running off earlier! Brand new TARDIS. Bit exciting! Just had a quick hop to the moon and back to run her in! She's ready for the big stuff now."

  He patted the side of the police box, and Rory felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes because surely it wasn't possible to be affected so much by a single word.

  _TARDIS._

  Surely that wasn't possible.

  _Where was she?_

_Where was the girl with the long, dark hair?_

  "It's you. You came back."

  "'Course I came back. I always come back. Something wrong with that?"

  Rory was silent, because his throat suddenly felt too tight to breathe and there were tears in his eyes as he saw something change in the Doctor's expression. This strange, mysterious, brilliant,  _alien_ man took a step forward, his face pinched with concern and confusion, murmuring, "Rory, what's wrong? You're crying."

  Rory lifted a shaky hand to his cheek and discovered to his surprise that the Doctor was right when his fingertips came away wet.

  "You were gone."

  "But...not for long, Rory. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have run away from you and Amy like that...where is she, by the way? Young Amelia Pond?"

  "Where is she?"

  "Yeah, that's what I asked."

  "No, where is your daughter? Where's Freya, Doctor?"

  And there it was again, that look of complete bewilderment and fear that Rory simply could not fathom, and Rory didn't want to see that look because finally, _finally,_ the mystery that had plagued nearly his entire life was beginning to resolve itself. The mystery that had presented itself for the first time back on the swings in the Leadworth playground when he was seven years old, the name that had harried him for years on end ( _Freya Freya Freya)_ finally had some resemblance of meaning in his mind.

  Could they be linked? The girl with the long, dark hair and Amy's raggedy Doctor? The tiny child he had helped in the clothes shop and the otherworldly being who had shown him the stars?

  When the Doctor spoke, his voice was hoarse.

  "I - I'm sorry, Rory. I really don't know what you're talking about. I...don't have a daughter named Freya..."

  "No, no, no I've _met_ her, Doctor! I met her before with _you_ and I helped you find her, and I think I might have met her even before _that_ but I just...I don't understand how because she was _older_ then but she...but she was _there_ and I rode in your TARDIS and she showed me things I'd never even dreamed of...I saw the _stars,_ Doctor, and she told me their names as we watched the lights on planet Earth go out one by one, and I saw her fly away in your box...I've _met_ her, Doctor. She's _real!"_

  And he was crying now, real, deep, guttural sobs that wracked his entire being, leaving his throat as raw as sandpaper and his eyes throbbing with tears. The Doctor seemed to hesitate for a moment, his fingers clenching and unclenching with uncertainty before he was surging forward, wrapping his arms around Rory's shuddering frame and holding him tight, saying nothing but keeping him close and secure. Rory clung on for dear life, burying his face in the other man's shoulder and weeping, throwing all concerns of caution and dignity to the wind.

  Now was not the time.

  It felt like a long time after his sobs had reduced to pathetic sniffles that he felt a gentle hand hesitantly begin to card through his hair, and the Doctor's soft voice whispering, "Time is a cruel mistress, Rory. I fear that you may have been used by her."

  "I don't know what that _means,_ " Rory whispered, his voice quavering, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

  The Doctor chuckled, but he didn't sound amused. In fact, he sounded pained.

  "Me neither, to tell you the truth. But I suppose we will both find out in the near future."

  It was after another beat of silence that Rory finally recovered himself enough to step away from the other man, shame and embarrassment flushing his skin deep red and causing him to dip his head, adamant on not meeting the Doctor's gaze.

  "I'm sorry. I - I shouldn't have..."

  "Come with me, Rory."

  The sentence was so unexpected that Rory stuttered into silence, lifting his head to stare at the other man, who simply gazed at him, eyes wide and imploring.

  "What?"

  "Come with me. In the TARDIS. For as long as you like. Go anywhere. See anything. You can come home whenever or wherever you like. It would be like you never left."

  "But...but Amy..."

  "Oh yes, we must bring Amy! Little Amelia Pond has waited long enough for a trip in the TARDIS...but it sounds like you may have done too. I'd like you both to come."

  Rory didn't know what to say, but the gentle, encouraging smile that spread across the Doctor's face was enough to reanimate himself enough to nod jerkily, murmuring, "Yes. Yes, I'd like that a...a lot."

  The smile became a grin, and the Doctor ran forward to envelop Rory in a brief but tight hug before pulling back and saying, "Let's go and wake her then! Don't want her missing out on all the fun! What do you think...should I surprise her with some fish fingers and custard? No? Too much? Yeah, probably too much. Jam will do. Jam's not too bad. Just mashed up fruit, really."

  Rory watched. And Rory listened. And deep down, in the very pits of his subconscious, something fluttered to life.

  Because just as it had been with the girl with the long, dark hair, Rory was beginning to realise that this was a man who was untameable. A man who lived among the stars and danced with planets and meteors. A man that he knew he would follow to the ends of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whaddaya think? I did use some dialogue from the episode 'The Eleventh Hour' in this episode, though obviously it was modified in places. I hope you can finally see where this story is going! :) Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you would like to.


	5. Somewhere, sometime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so...it's been nearly a year since this updated and ONCE AGAIN I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING A TERRIBLE AUTHOR but I hope you enjoy this chapter because this has been a long time coming and it's about time I got my ass in gear and wrote another chapter of this. Hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN DOCTOR WHO!! NONE OF THE CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN THIS STORY ARE MY OWN (except for Freya). 
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS

The first time Rory kissed the Doctor, he was twenty-two years old.

  It hadn't been intentional. It was an accident really, just an unidentifiable moment of hazy madness that left his brain a fuzzy, chaotic jumble of _things._ One moment he had been staring at the Doctor from across the TARDIS console, contemplating the gentle greenish tinge to his jawline, a reflection of the soft glow of the console, and the next he was two feet away from him and leaning closer, and the Doctor may have been talking to him, probably his usual incomprehensible babble of nonsensical ideas that went in one of Rory's ears and out the other, and yet he kept on leaning in and suddenly they were touching.

  It was that moment that Rory had suddenly thought, _SHIT. What am I doing?_

  He was still unable to conjure up an answer.

  It confused and scared him, the memories of that moment (or several moments, if we're being technical). He couldn't quite wrap his head around it. What had he been thinking? Nothing, apparently. His brain had, if he remembered correctly, simply gone blank for those few precious seconds that could have spared him the consequent embarrassment and awkwardness that had come with the kiss, and for a few moments he had been running on simple, base instinct and desire.

  And Jesus, it was awkward now.

  Rory wished it wasn't, but somehow, since their encounter, he was certain that the Doctor had started _avoiding_ him. He was especially certain because he happened to be avoiding the Doctor too - he knew what avoidance looked like. It was five days since the incident and Rory had had only one brief glimpse of the Doctor disappearing around a corner, plunging back into the seemingly endless labyrinth of corridors that made up the main body of the TARDIS. The Doctor knew his ship like he knew the back of his hand - better than anything. There was no possibility that he simply didn't know where to find him - Rory wasn't exactly the most elusive of people. He tended to spend his days either in his room, Amy's room or the library. Pretty predictable, really.

  Ah yes. Amy. She was another factor that Rory had not taken into account when his brain had decided it would be a good idea to launch himself at the Doctor. She was intelligent - far more intelligent than people gave her credit for, and she knew how people worked. It was her job to know what got people going, what made them tick, and that made her scarily good at _knowing_ when something was off, especially when it was between the two people she cared about most in the universe.

  "Talk to me."

  They were seated upon her bed like a pair of schoolchildren, like they used to when they were living together in Amy's big, creaky old house. It was almost like old times, like the sleepovers they used to have with Mels, sitting up all night talking about everything and anything, eating midnight snacks that Mels had snuck in from her own fridge at home and having to muffle their giggles in blankets and pillows to stop themselves waking up any disgruntled parents. And yet this situation could not be further from those hazy, halcyon days. Rory gnawed at the loose skin on his bottom lip, refusing to meet his friend's piercing gaze. He knew if he did, she would be even more certain that something was wrong. And yet somehow _not_ looking was just as bad, as she seemed to become even more adamant on receiving an answer at his silence, grabbing him by the wrist and giving his arm a shake, a petulant frown creasing her forehead.

  "Come on, Rory. Talk to me. I'm your friend. You're meant to talk to your friends when something's wrong, and something is _clearly_ wrong."

  Rory was silent for a moment more before hesitantly lifting his gaze to meet hers. "I'm not sure you'll want to hear the story."

  Frowning, this time in confusion, Amy released Rory's wrist (much to his relief), moving her ridiculously long legs so that she was sitting opposite him cross-legged, like some kind of awkward, long-legged spider. The image caused a small, involuntary smile to tug at the corners of Rory's lips - Amy really was the sort of girl to attract all and sundry: tall, beautiful, red-haired, slender - and yet in this moment she almost looked like a child again, her eyes open and understanding, her expressive face schooled into an expression deliberately tailored to put him at ease.

  God, she was good.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he had mumbled softly, "It's...the Doctor."

  "Yes, I had gathered that. You two haven't been speaking for days now. You're usually inseparable. What's up? Did something happen?"

  Rory went quiet, his face heating up so much that he was certain he must have turned as red as a beetroot. Well, there went his cover.

  "You're blushing! Something did happen! I knew it!" Amy crowed, grasping Rory's right hand and squeezing so tightly he thought he could feel his bones grinding together.

  "Get off!" he grumbled, face burning as he yanked his hand out of her grip, turning away from her. "It's...not what you think."

  "Really? You mean you didn't have sex with our Doc?"

  "What? No! Of course not! Why would you..."

  He trailed off at the disbelieving expression on the woman's face, and he scowled at her, dropping his gaze downwards to stare intently at his hands, fingers clenching and unclenching erratically.

  "We didn't do anything like that."

  "But...something did happen?" Amy prodded, her gaze a tangible force upon his skin.

  He hesitated before nodding once, sharp and quick, as though to get the admission out of the way as swiftly as possible. Amy remained silent, allowing him time to breathe, giving him space to decide whether to continue or not, like she always did.

  "I...I kissed him. I don't know why. I just...I was watching him across the console and he was blabbering some nonsense that I couldn't understand...and somehow...god, it's so bloody _cheesy..._ but he looked really...nice. And just for a moment I forgot that he's the _Doctor_ and that the Doctor doesn't _have_ relationships because he's god knows how old and he's probably met _billions_ of people like me in his time...how am I going to be any different to people he's met in the past? I won't be. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea. All it's brought is unecessary baggage..."

  He groaned, burying his face in his hands as the regret, guilt and disappointment overwhelmed him all in one rush, eyes stinging with tears that he promptly blinked away because _hell no_ was he going to cry over the Doctor in front of his best friend.

  There was another brief period of silence, and for a second Rory thought that Amy was waiting for him to continue again, but when he lifted his head to look at her reaction, he saw that she was gazing at him with an expression that said 'You really are an absolute idiot, aren't you?'

  "What's that look for?" he asked, glaring at her.

  At that, her lips curled into a bright smile, her teeth perfect and white in the cool glow of the dim, subterranean lighting that permeated the room and cast soft shadows across the walls. She didn't laugh at him, though. She would never laugh at him. Not about something like this.

  "Really Rory...you always were bloody oblivious when it came to this sort of stuff."

  "Hey, no I wasn't!" he exclaimed before piping back down, clamping his lips shut because really, when he thought about it, she did have a point.

  "Yes you were. You still are. OK, I've known you a long time. I know when you like someone, although it hasn't happened often. You kissed the Doctor because you _like_ him, to answer your first 'unanswerable' question. And that's perfectly OK. Secondly, all that shite about him having met other people like you...I'll tell you something right here, right now that I haven't told you before. A couple of months ago I was having a chat with our Time Lord in residence and somehow (I can't imagine why) we got onto the topic of you, and he told me, and I quote: 'I like him. A lot. He's unlike anyone I've met before'. So there you go, Mr Worry McGee."

  Rory stared at her, the lip-gnawing somehow becoming even more frantic at her words. She couldn't be telling the truth. Why would the Doctor say that? And to Amy of all people? Out of the two of them, Amy was by far the most attractive and the most likely to draw the Doctor's attentions. In fact, Rory had been sure right from the beginning of this ridiculous escapade that the Doctor and Amy would somehow end up together.

  "He said that?"

  "Of course he did, what, are you calling me a liar?"

  "N-no, just...it just doesn't sound like him."

  "Well it was him. Totally him. I reported that to you word for word. Perfect quotation."

  There was a pause, Rory's head swimming dizzily with too many thoughts. Too many doors had been opened. Too many possibilities realised.

  "Besides...he's avoiding you, Rory. Not because he regrets what happened - hell, I expect he enjoyed it as much as you did. You're both just emotionally stunted and don't know how to go about negotiating your _feelings_ because feelings are messy and sticky and they can get you into shitty situations. He's just as scared as you are, Rory. I know. I've seen the way he looks at you when you turn your back."

  "You...you don't know that for sure."

  "Alright, I don't know it for sure, but I _strongly suspect. Extremely_ strongly. So strongly that you shouldn't really doubt me."

  Rory couldn't help a small laugh, breathy and quavering with disbelief and the overwhelming urge to cry. He was promptly tugged into a tight hug, Amy's warm arms encircling his shoulders, one thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin, her long hair getting in his eyes and mouth. He really didn't care. Moving forward, he imitated his friend's movements, burying his face in her shoulder and pulling her close, squeezing his eyelids so tightly closed that it was almost painful. He inhaled her familiar scent, like _home_ and _safety,_ a scent that signified the one solid, constant presence in his life. One that he knew would never leave.

  "Thank you," he murmured against the fabric of her cardigan, some of the fibres getting in his mouth as he spoke.

  "That's OK. It's what I'm here for. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't help my best friend hook up with his love interest?"

  He laughed then, properly, a little wetly and he may have sniffled once or twice, his voice brimming with unshed tears straining to be released, but in the grand scheme of things it was a real, proper laugh - the kind that only came around when Amy was in the room. He could never remain in low spirits for long with her around.

  She was like the sunshine - golden, warm, beautiful, brightening up a room with her fiery temper and golden smile. Rory really didn't know what he would do without her. She was his best friend - the only one who had stuck by him his entire life, through thick and thin, good times and bad. When his mother and father had divorced, she had been the one who had held his hand and listened to his endless ranting, and hugged him when he cried. When the one girl he had ever been in a relationship with had turned out to be cheating on him, she had confronted said girl at school the day after she found out, decked her and then hurried back over to an extremely embarrassed and upset Rory, even going so far as to buy him a Mars Bar from that clunky old vending machine that stood outside the school canteen. When he had his first kiss, got his first job, managed to get tickets for their favourite band when they were fifteen...she had been there to celebrate with him.

  It was just what she did. It was her way. She understood him, perhaps better than he understood himself. That was certainly how it felt sometimes.

  "You're amazing. How do you do that? Make me go from one bloody emotional extreme to the other?" he asked, laughing wetly and forcefully swiping away the stray tears wobbling upon his eyelashes.

  She sniggered, pulling back a little to pat him once on the cheek.

  "I'm just an incredible friend. You're lucky to have me."

  Rolling his eyes, Rory pinned her with a wry expression before chuckling once more, moving backwards and away, face flushed with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. They remained in silence for what felt like hours, both contemplating, soothed into hazy comfort by the gentle, oscillating swell and decay of the lighting, like the blood of some great leviathan, all underscored by the deep, droning thrum that belied the great heart of the TARDIS, a constant ostinato in the background, beating regularly as it always did. Rory was cradled in warmth and security, nurtured by the gentle ministrations of the great ship. Closing his eyes, he revelled in the sensation, so rare these days, which warmed him to the core and kept his breathing steady and soft.

  "You should go to him."

  "Hm?"

  He opened his eyes to look at Amy. Her voice was gentle but her face conveyed a certain quiet intensity that betrayed her true feelings.

  "He'll be around somewhere. I think I saw him tinkering under the console earlier. He'll probably still be there seeing as that's become his favourite pastime since you two stopped talking."

  Rory hesitated, thumbs twiddling nervously, palms slightly clammy as he slowly, carefully, came to a decision. The moment when he finally did so brought with it a kind of clarity, a sudden brightness in his heart and mind that reassured and braced him. He was ready. Or at least...he really, really hoped he was. Taking a moment to pull Amy into a final tight embrace, he pulled back and slid off the bed. Heart suddenly thundering in his chest, he stepped cautiously out into the corridor beyond, pausing to catch a reassuring smile from Amy before closing the door to her room firmly behind him.

***

 This was necessary. He couldn't put it off forever. This was no way to live - holing himself up in remote corners of the TARDIS in a half-hearted attempt to avoid contact with the one man he wanted, if only subconsciously, to see more than anyone. Fists clenched, he felt the almost imperceptible shift in pressure, the beginnings of change stirring in the air as he drew closer to the console - it was like an enigma, some kind of great magnetised force pulling all into its orbit. With it came the gentle _clink_ and _scrape_ of metal against metal, tangible, aural evidence that Amy had been right - _he_ was there. Bracing himself for a moment, Rory took a deep, cleansing breath before moving forward once more, determination temporarily stronger than any sense of self-preservation he may have.

  Although he tried to quieten his footsteps as much as he possibly could so as not to disturb the Doctor, the gentle, metallic _thunk_ of his feet upon the floor echoed just enough in the cavernous space for the Time Lord to freeze, the sounds of his mindless pottering coming to an abrupt halt.

  "Amy?" 

  He knew it wasn't Amy. Rory could hear it in the soft quaver of his voice.

  "No," he replied, swallowing around the sudden hoarseness that turned his throat into sandpaper. "It's me. I came to talk."

  There was a moment of contemplative silence. Rory waited in tense anticipation. It was the Doctor's move. If he walked away, Rory knew he would have to respect his decision - what else could he do? He felt as though he were standing upon the brink of some great precipice, and that one tiny breath of wind would send him toppling over the edge and into oblivion.

  There was the sound of clanking metal as the Doctor seemed to drop whatever tools he had been using, followed by irregular footsteps tripping up the thin metal stairs in their haste to reach the top. When the Doctor appeared, hair tousled and hands slightly oily from the inner workings of the TARDIS as he wiped them frantically on a rag (which he slid into one of his trouser pockets), Rory felt his heart leap in his chest, indescribably relieved to see that the man was apparently going to cooperate.

  "Yes...yes, talking. That sounds...that sounds like a good idea. Talking, yes. I'm good at that. I can do that."

  Strangely comforted by the Doctor's babbling, Rory took a step closer, ignoring the incessant pounding in his chest before saying, "So."

  "So."

  "We...we kissed the other day."

  "Yes. We did, didn't we?"

  The Doctor's voice was almost wistful, as though he were recalling some half-forgotten dream.

  "I think we need to stop avoiding each other and figure out what it...what it meant."

  A small smile touched the corners of the Doctor's lips, the corners of his eyes creasing in a way that Rory found endlessly endearing. "I think you're right, Rory. But then...you usually are, aren't you?"

  Pursing his lips, Rory felt a slight blush spread across his cheekbones. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  When the other man simply shrugged, evidently not intending to elaborate upon what he had said, Rory sighed and said, "Well...I guess I'll start. I...I liked it. The kiss, I mean. I enjoyed it. Kissing you."

  Rory could feel the blood rushing to his face - he was burning up and must have looked absolutely ridiculous. The Doctor simply chuckled softly, that hushed, breathy laugh he did whenever he or Amy said something supposedly brilliant.

  "Well, that certainly is good, because I must admit that...I quite enjoyed it too. Kissing you."

  A disbelieving smile wound its way onto Rory's face, distracting him from the heat of his skin as the blush slowly began to subside.

  "You did?"

  "Of course I did. I would have pulled away if I hadn't."

  "I just thought...I thought you were shocked. I thought you didn't know what to do so you just kissed back."

  "Rory...contrary to popular belief, I'm not incompetent when it comes to...all this." He accompanied this statement with a generic wave of his hand. "I know what to do when I don't want to kiss someone."

  Rory felt the weight upon his shoulders lessen somewhat, leaving him space to breathe. "I'm sorry. I never meant to...assume anything. I just thought you were...I don't know. Whatever I thought it was stupid of me."

  The Doctor laughed again, stepping closer, and Rory's heart was promptly in his throat once more.

  "Nothing you do or say is ever stupid, Rory. You're human. I have been alive for more than nine-hundred years and I still don't know all the infinitesimal subtleties of the universe."

  He trailed off into comfortable quietness, the gentle push and pull of their breathing filling the gap between them.

  "I...I was talking to Amy before, and...and she told me something."

  The Doctor was silent, expression receptive and curious, giving Rory the courage to continue.

  "She said that you two had a...a conversation a while ago, and you were...you were talking about me. She said you said that you...you liked me a lot and that...and that you'd never met anyone like me before." Rory paused, taking a moment to gauge the Doctor's reaction. Unable to decipher anything from the other man's face, he carried on. "It's just...you've...you've seen so much, met so many people - thousands, perhaps millions. And it was me who decided to kiss you. What do I have to offer that you've not already been able to experience with anyone else you've met over the years? I'm...I'm just me."

  A look of indescribable sadness swept over the Doctor's features as he moved his hands up to Rory's neck, stroking his jawline. "Oh Rory. Wonderful, gorgeous Rory. What am I going to do with you and that inferiority complex of yours?"

  Blinking, Rory was unable to look away, drawn into the Doctor's gaze, dark green and awhirl with a swelling symphony of emotion. Opening his mouth to speak, he found that he had no words to say - they all seemed to have caught in his throat, rendering his tongue useless.

  "Something that I have learned over the last nine-hundred and then some years is that there is nobody who is not important. Every single one of us has a unique and different experience, a different mind, a different heart - or hearts, in my case. In spite of some similarities, there has been, and never will be, someone I meet who has all the same things to offer as you, Rory. It's impossible. Everyone is, and always will be, different. And you are no exception. The conversation Amy told you about...she was right, as she so often is. I have met many people in my lifetime. Not one of them is you, and not one of them ever will be."

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

  "No, it's fine. Really. I don't want you to think you're...lesser in any way, just because I'm old and I've met a lot of people over the centuries."

  Smiling wryly, Rory mumbled, "I never said you were old."

  "No, but I am. And you implied it."

  The humour in the Doctor's tone was such a relief to hear that Rory found himself moving ever closer, reaching up and hesitantly placing one hand upon the Doctor's cheek, running his thumb over the cool skin of his cheekbone.

  "Is this...OK?" Rory asked, voice brimming with barely-contained excitement.

  The Doctor hummed once in affirmation, smiling brightly at the expression of awe on Rory's face.

  "Is this?"

  And then there was a mere hair's breadth between them, their breaths mingling and the heat from the Time Lord's body palpable through the thin fabric of Rory's hoodie, the Doctor's hands tentative and yet purposeful as they slid down Rory's neck and across his collarbone to rest upon his shoulders. Swallowing, Rory slowly moved his hands to hover over the Doctor's waist, nervous and unsure whether the instincts screaming at him to take the other man into his arms were right or whether he should be careful. Take it slow. He was a careful person by nature, never one to make a rash or ill-considered move.

  "It's alright, Rory," the Doctor murmured, voice gentle and eyes still fixed upon Rory's face, thumbs rubbing circles into his shoulders, not unlike how Amy had done not seven minutes before.

  The chasm yawned before Rory, enticing and strangely welcoming, beckoning him in a voice that tugged almost imperceptibly at the furthest reaches of his memory, gentle but insistent. The precipice seemed to move beneath his feet, the wind he had so desired before rocking his gangly frame and threatening to send him over the edge. But this time, the idea did not frighten him - at least, not like it had before. Feeling the Doctor's warm breath upon his lips, he knew what he wanted. What he needed.

  He allowed himself to fall, the warm darkness swallowing him up and the soft susurrations of a barely familiar voice in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Please leave a comment/kudos if you want to - I'm always a slut for feedback! :) There aren't going to be a huge number of chapters following this one - maybe two or three at a push. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm so sorry I took so long to update - I'm just a bad person. :'(


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